Hero of War
by Jameson Rook
Summary: "Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us. And, sometimes, they win." -Stephen King. Written for southpawokpoet.


_**Disclaimer: Burn Notice and all of its characters belong to Matt Nix and the USA Network.**_

_** This fic is dedicated to **_**southpawokpoet****. **_**Thank you so much, my dear. There's not much more for me to saying other than thank you for sharing so much with me. **_

_** Also, there's a COMIC that shows how Michael and Fi met? Where the hell have I been?! Apparently I must have been in the corner playing with blocks or something...I **_**need**_** to find this comic...but, the general thought seems to be a no go on the Ireland multichapter. I'll figure out something, because I **_**really**_** want to do a multichapter here soon. **_

_"A hero of war. _

_Is that what they see?_

_Just medals and scars? _

_So damned proud of me?_

_I brought home that flag, now it gathers dust,_

_But, it's a flag that I love,_

_It's the only flag I trust." _

_"Hero of War" Rise Against_

**"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us. And, sometimes, they win." **

**-Stephen King**

They worst part about being a covert operative is the demons. They circle when the sky grows dark, and your brain allows itself to run back over the laundry list of sins you've commited in the past decade. Those were the nights that I spent hunched over the workbench, my muscles quivering in fear. I have a lifetime worth of blood on my hands, and there is nothing that can wash that clean. My mind was no longer my own, it was a war ravaged battleground.

They never tell you in basic training that, once you get out of the military, you are never really _out_. They don't tell you about the nights that you will spend sitting straight up out of a dead sleep and screaming. They don't tell you that you will spend hours pacing your silent home while your family sleeps and they are blissfully unaware of the fact that you are still fighting a war in your own body

My mother didn't know about the nightmares, but that was because I hadn't wanted her to. I had always been able to conceal things that I didn't want her to know about, unlike Nate. Nate...No, I never told my mother. She had enough to deal with after the fall out of his death.

Fiona was a different story all together. She had seen the product of the nightmares on more than one occasion when the rumbles of thunder in a hurricane or the howl of wind had sparked a nightmare in my subconcious and had me shooting out of bed with my gun drawn. She never questioned the nightmare the next morning, she just held me through the night and gave me a smile when the sun peeked over the horizon.

I stared at the space in front of me, my body stoic and still as I concentrated on breathing in and out, trying not to let the demons in my head get the better of me. They were closing in, I could feel them breathing down my neck, their teeth bared and their growls tearing through the haunting voices that echoed in my head. It was a bone deep chill that I couldn't seem to shake. It was always that way just before the memory reel began to play.

_"Who the hell gave you permission to speak to me, boy?" Frank drawled, the bourbon so thick on his breath that I could practically see it hanging in the air between us. I scowled at him, my muscles tense._

_ "I don't recall asking for permission. What did Mom do to deserve you screaming at her?" I snarled, my fists balling at my sides. I had returned from running to the grocery store to find my father directly in my mother's face, screaming about God knows what and grasping the collar of her shirt with his free hand. The other hand, of course, had a bottle clutched in it. I had rushed in, dropping the bag of groceries, and yelled at him to back away. _

_ "You better remember who you're speaking to." My blood boiled in my veins as I took a menacing step closer. _

_ "I don't give a fuck who I'm talking to. Speak to her again that way, and I _will_ kill you." The bottle in his hand shattered across the left side of my face, the jagged shards tearing a cut into the flesh just under my left eye. I sucked in a breath when I hit the floor, blood dripping from my face onto the floor. _

_ His boot connect with my chin, snapping my head back and filling my gaze with stars. I staggered to my feet and threw a resounding right hook at him, connecting with his temple, and he dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks. My chest was heaving as I stood over him, but I soon regained my thoughts and turned to my mother, pulling her into a tight hug and moving us toward the living room. _

_ I should have been better at taking care of her. I was supposed to protect her, she was my mother. I needed to protect her from that man. _

It had been a long time since I'd shown my mother that kind of rage. The job where I had to pretend to be holding her hostage was heartwrenching. The utter look of fear that she had given me, her hands shaking so badly that she couldn't even light her own cigarette. I took a long pull off of the beer in my hand, swallowing the cool liquid.

I ran a hand over my hair, trying to get a grip on the reins of my subconcious, but I couldn't seem to. The sick churn of my stomach had me racing to the bathroom and clutching the toilet tightly as I heaved the contents of my stomach, the burnt scent of gun power and the metallic scent of blood filling my nostrils.

_"Westen, you're going to post up here," Holmes, the leader of our spec ops unit, stated as he pointed to a spot on the map that was spread out in front of us. "And you're going to provide cover fire for the rest of us to enter here." He pointed to a spot a few hundred meters away. It was supposed to be an easy compound raid. Get in, get the target, get out. But things never go quite as planned._

_ Our unit moved as darkness fell, each soldier moving in tandem with every other soldier. I climbed up to the ridge where I was supposed to be stationed, pulled the sniper rifle from my back, and set myself up. I watched the unit running towards the compound. _

_ I took a deep breath and shifted my weight, my finger hovering on the trigger of the gun. I was watching the gate, in case a nosy guard were to show, when the explosion went off. IED. The damned bomb had blown all of my unit mates skyhigh in a shower of body parts and the clipped noise of screams cut short. _

_ I sprinted down the ridge, careful to keep a cover while watching for the inevitable approach of the men inside the compound. I glanced over the remains of the men that I had served with since we had gone through basic training. Emotion was tight in my throat when I scrambled back into the treeline, a fistful of dog tags swaying until I tucked them into my breast pocket. _

_ "Extraction team, this is Charlie Tango One-one-three." I barked into the comm system. "Meet at rally point two, we need to get out of here now."_

_ "Charlie Tango one-one-three, what's your status? We're not supposed to extract for fifteen minutes." _

_ "The unit hit an IED. I'm the only survivor. This compound is going to be crawling with Cavanagh's men any minute now."_

_ "Ten-four, we'll meet at extract." I flicked off the comm and sprinted through the trees around me. By the time I reached the extraction point, the Black Hawk was waiting for me, and I climbed in, not looking behind me. My hands were shaking as I held out the bloodstained dog tags that had once hung around the necks of the men who had trusted me with their lives. I had failed them..._

I leaned back against the tub, sweat making my back stick to the porcelin. Dark circles under my eyes were throbbing from the exertion of getting sick. The worst nightmares were the ones that made me violently ill and refused to let me sleep for days. They were the ones that reminded me of how badly I had let everyone down. I curled into the fetal position, my stomach twisting painfully. A pained growl tore from my throat as another bout of nausea overtook me.

_"Listen, Westen, you have to do what you have to do. She's an asset. Expendable. Get your shit together and meet at the extract in an hour. Don't be late." I was left staring at my phone, my jaw hanging open when the line disconnected. _

_ Expendable? There was nothing about Fiona Glenanne that was expendable. She was...she was everything. Samantha had never made me nearly as happy as Fiona had, reguardless of the issues that Fi and I had. I stepped back into the bedroom where she was still sleeping soundly, and settled onto the edge of the bed. Her feet brushed my lower back as she groaned and turned over in her sleep, her hand reaching out for me subconciously._

_ "Michael?" She whimpered, her eyes barely opening enough for her to see. I reached over and tucked a curl behind her ear gently._

_ "I'm here, love." I whispered, the Irish accent coming as naturally as breathing. _

_ "What're you doin' 'wake?" She mumbled, obviously still half asleep. _

_ "I need a drink of water. Go back ta sleep, Fi, I'll be back ta bed in a minute." She nodded and kissed my hand softly._

_ "Hurry back, it's getting a mite nippy and I need that furnace you call a body to keep warm." I waited until her breathing evened out once again before standing and throwing the clothes that had accumulated in the spot between Fiona's socks and her favorite jeans. _

_ I stared at the empty gap in our..._her_ dresser, my heart clenching. It meant that I was really leaving, and that Michael McBride was really gone for good. I took one last look at the beautiful woman laying on the bed, the red silken sheets riding low enough to expose her bare shoulders. I shook my head, swallowing back the tears that threatened to overflow, and ducked out into the bitterly cold Ireland night._

I struggled to my feet and walked out of the bathroom until I reached the bed. I collapsed against the cold, empty sheets, my face hitting the pillow. There was a laundry list of sins that I had to answer for over the past decade, but no one knew a damned thing about how they haunted me in the darkest reaches of the night.

They never saw the man fighting a silent war with himself day in and day out. They never got to see the demons that ripped through the facade of a hardened spy and returned me to the shattered shell of a terrified little boy, cowering in the closet. They didn't see that I had failed them at every turn. They didn't see that I was the one thing standing between them and a normal life. They didn't see that everyone I loved got hurt.

All they saw was the well-painted, iron clad facade of a hero of war.

All they saw was a web of well-crafted deception.

All they saw was lies...

_**So, I'm not exactly sure how I feel about the outcome of this one...I feel like its a bunch of words just thrown together...drop me review and let me know what you think?**_

_** Much love,**_

_** J. Rook**_


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